


Hard Bitten

by J Millington (valoise)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-01
Updated: 1999-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valoise/pseuds/J%20Millington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world gone to hell two men find a reason to go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Bitten

Hard Bitten

by J. Millington  
varmstro@earthlink.net

 

April 1999  
Summary: Two men find a new reason to go on.  
Category: Slash. Rating: R  
Keyword: Mulder/Skinner  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning came, seeping in on the tail of the bitter wind. Walter Skinner huddled deeper into his ragged blankets, dredging up the resolve to move. Another day to endure.

Scrabbling out of his hide-away, he carefully rearranged the brush and worthless trash to hide the tiny cave. It was best to leave nothing tempting for fellow scavengers to find. And his idea of what was tempting was at an all-time low. For someone with nothing, next-to-nothing was a step up.

Following the path into the city he passed other men, occasional women, with eyes down-cast. They shared a common goal. Find a meal at the relief station. If they were lucky, avoid the scrutiny of any officials. If they were really lucky, find some day labor. Manual labor in exchange for some extra food or warm clothes.

There were no jobs for cash. There was no cash. Now that the New Order was firmly in place, what was left of the population fell into two distinct groups; those who were in favor, living in luxury and comfort, and those on the outside, for whom nothing could be taken for granted. For whom the only thing they had left was life itself and even that was only at the whim of the Others.

He winced as he stepped on a rock, bruising his foot through the thin sole of his shoe. What he really needed was a new pair of boots. The wingtips were the shoes he'd had on when they'd taken him to the camp. He stopped and looked down at the worn brown leather. Brushed the dirt off the toe. The only remnant of his former life, the position of authority he'd once held, a worn out pair of shoes completely unsuited for the new world.

He took his place in line and waited, shuffling forward slowly as the Caretakers handed out bowl after bowl of the meager meal. As he neared the front, he could smell it. Oatmeal. He'd hated the stuff before, but had recently found a new appreciation of it. At least it warmed the belly and kept him going until the next meal.

He grabbed the steaming bowl as it was handed to him, found a place against the wall of an old building, and sank down to eat. Watching the crowd come and go, he found himself gauging each one. Looking for someone with the right kind of edginess. Someone who wanted out as bad as he did.

He'd heard rumors. That there were pockets of resistance in the countryside. But he wanted more information. Blundering into the unknown without a clear idea of where he was going could only lead to trouble. Most likely death. Here at least he was alive.

A scuffle broke out in the food line; they'd run out of food again before they'd run out of mouths to feed. A howl rose up and those at the back surged forward, trying to keep the doors to the relief station from closing. They were beaten back for their efforts and turned away.

It was a rule of survival he'd learned his first day out of the camp. Be as close to the front of the line as you could and once you got your food, find a defensible place to eat it. It helped to look big, to look mean.

Skinner watched two toughs, too scrawny to pick on the more able-bodied, circle a hunched figure limping back toward the alley. The poor guy had the right idea, but he wasn't going to make it. The man looked back, scanning the area for a way out, as his attackers drew near. His eyes burned with a fire unquenched by the camps,

Jumping to his feet, remnants of breakfast forgotten, Skinner ran to the man's aid just as they pulled him to the ground. He grabbed one of the punks, dragged him off as their victim kicked out at the other. Skinner let his man go and they both backed off and scrambled away.

Skinner let them leave without a glance, his vision taken up by the man lying in the dust in front of him. "Mulder."

Breathless, Fox Mulder lay sprawled in the dust. "That," he wheezed, "was close. Thanks." He sat up and brushed dejectedly at the tiny bit of oatmeal that was smeared on his shirt. The rest of it was spilled, hopelessly ground into the dirt. "Shit. I really wanted that."

Reaching down to help the other man up, Skinner hauled Mulder to his feet. Watched him struggle to get his balance, leaning heavily against the wall of the abandoned building, favoring his right leg. Hollow-cheeked and threadbare, obviously just released from the camps.

He looked back at the line forming for the call for day laborers, knew he would miss it today.

"Hey," Mulder shrugged off his helping hand, following the direction of Skinner's glance. "Don't let me keep you from anything. I can take care of myself."

Skinner snorted. "How long have you been out? A day? Two?" Mulder stared at him, silent. "At least let me show you the ropes."

Mulder shoved off of the building and took a tentative step. "I've managed to take care of myself so far."

"Don't be ridiculous." Stepping around him, Skinner blocked his path.

"What the hell." With a tiny nod of his head, Mulder relented.

They walked mostly in silence, Skinner occasionally taking time to point out something useful, points of interest to survival. Taking time for Mulder to catch his breath. The climb up the hill was slow. At the top, he drew out his water bottle and handed it to Mulder, who took a sip and offered it to Skinner.

He refused to take it. "Finish it. There's a stream near the cave. I'll get a drink there."

With a few noisy gulps, Mulder drained the bottle. He stared at it longingly before handing it back.

"No, you keep it. I've got another one." He had several, in fact. Part of the provisions he'd been stockpiling. Waiting for the right time to leave.

They stopped at the stream. Skinner dropped to his knees and scooped up handful of water. Watched Mulder kneel, painfully, and lower the water bottle to fill it up. "Sorry, but it's hands and knees from here on. Follow me closely. There's some food, if you're hungry."

Mulder nodded without a word and followed as Skinner crawled under a row of bushes to the side of the rock wall. Stripping away the "door" to his cave, Skinner gestured for Mulder to go in first.

The lean man squeezed through the narrow opening. Skinner followed, reaching around behind him to secure the entrance.

The space had never felt roomy and was even tighter with two bodies, making the air feel close. It was his own space, away from the other refugees. It gave him a sense of safety. But it had always left him with a gripping loneliness. Until today.

The cave was quiet, just the sound of two men, breathing. Pulling out a candle and matches from a narrow ledge of rock, He lit it and then rummaged around until he found packet of crackers and handed them to Mulder.

The other man made no move to eat, just sat there staring at the cellophane package in his hands, as if it was a priceless gift. In the faint illumination Skinner studied Mulder's face, a face lined with pain, creased with sorrow. The fierceness that Mulder had displayed to the world earlier that morning was replaced by weariness and resignation, as if the man felt safe enough here to let his guard down.

Skinner felt his breath catch. That tiny show of trust. That was what undid him. He brushed his hand lightly across Mulder's jaw, tracing the line of it. Mulder tilted his head, leaning into that touch, clasped his hand over Skinner's.

They sat locked into that position, a moment of humanity that held them speechless.

Finally, Mulder opened his eyes, drew away, and shuddered. "I can't. It's just not. . ."

"Not what?" Skinner reached, hungry for the contact, the warmth of another. "Not right to want to feel again? Not right to need? Not right to stop suffering for just a minute?"

He knew he'd hit it, when Mulder turned away, starting to back out of the shelter. Grabbing the other man by the ankle, he pinned him in place. "It is wrong to start living again?"

He felt the other man relax, then go limp, collapsing to the floor. Rolling over, Mulder stared at the ceiling, tears, staining his cheeks. "Why?" Barely a whisper.

He swallowed and locked eyes with Skinner. "In the camp, I fought to survive. To find a way out. Told myself, if I held on long enough, I could get them kill them all for what they'd done." He laughed, the bitter sound filling the closeness of the room. "I thought I was their enemy, but I was nothing. They tossed me out of camp a couple days ago along with the rest of the garbage."

Skinner lay down beside him and let him continue. "I can't believe I was that naive. I looked for the resistance as soon as I got out. It's gone. All the contacts, all the avenues of rebellion have been cut off. Eradicated." Closed his eyes, his voice dropping to an anguished whisper. "I don't know where to turn. I don't even know why I should."

Hesitantly, Skinner stroked the other man's arm, reached out to brush the tangled hair back from his forehead. "Hey." Wrapped his arms around Mulder and drew him close.

Mulder began to cry and Skinner rocked him, cradling him against his chest, murmuring in his ear. "It's okay." He let Mulder grieve for the lost friends, for his lost life, for his lost partner, pulling back only when he felt the body in his arms grow still.

Mulder sniffled, then blew his nose on the tail of his shirt.

"Better watch that." Skinner kidded. "It's hard to find a good laundry around here."

Mulder laughed. "Shit." He tilted his head up, his eyes serious once again. "What are we going to do?"

"Make it up as we go along." Skinner looked around at his refuge, wondering why he'd stayed as long as he had. "For the past couple of months I've heard rumors. Fighting in an area south of here. Heard those geeky publishing friends of yours might be part of it."

That brought a spot of life into Mulder's eyes. "That's great. Oh, man. That's . . " He sniffled hard once again.

"I know, I know." Skinner rubbed Mulder's shoulder. "You looked wiped out. Why don't you sleep? Take a nap for a bit. I need to go and refill the water bottles."

When he crawled back into the cave, he sat and watched Mulder sleep in the dim light. When he found his own eyes drifting shut, he lay down on his side, head nestled in the crook of his arm and allowed himself the luxury of simply letting go for awhile.

It was the dampness on the back of his neck that woke him. Skinner stiffened, certain that something was out of order, but unsure what it was. Until a soft breath breezed by his ear.

"Shh." The puff of breath was followed by a tender nibble.

Skinner tilted his head back, leaning into the attentions. Large hands reached around his chest, surrounding him. He felt a warm contentment that he never dreamed he would ever find again. He brushed his cheek against Mulder's feeling the competing textures of soft, lank hair and rough stubble. Hands shifted lower and the comfortable warmth began to sizzle.

Rolling over in the embrace, Skinner crushed Mulder with his kiss. The feel of the man under him, writhing with passion, groaning with desire, sent Skinner scrambling to unfasten buttons, undo zippers.

Mulder's hands fought with his in their awkward struggle to win free of their clothes. Shirts pushed up and out of the way, bare chest against bare chest, he pushed his pants down, kicking them out of the way. Mulder's hand on his cock, drove him wild. Dazed by the quick escalation of desire Skinner moaned in frustration and ground his hips against Mulder's, their erections thrust together.

Beyond words, almost beyond thought, Skinner and Mulder wrestled, clumsy in their frenzy. No romance, no sweetness, no gentle lovemaking. It was rough and desperate and masculine. And it was over almost as soon as it started.

They lay in a tangle of unwashed clothes and sweaty flesh. The candle had burnt out, leaving them in darkness. Skinner closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The cave smelled of sex and of life. It was the most wonderful aroma he could imagine.

He laid his head on Mulder's chest, transfixed by the rise and fall of each breath.

"You certainly know how to make a man feel at home." Mulder's tremulous voice at odds with his light-hearted words.

Skinner nipped at the belly beneath him and laughed. "Shut up, Mulder."

Ignoring him, Mulder planted a kiss firmly on Skinner's bald head, ran his hand over the sweaty smoothness and sighed. "This morning I knew something was going to happen. I thought maybe it was my day to die."

Skinner froze, unnerved by the sudden shift in mood. "No one's going to die today." The body beneath him shuddered.

"I should have died." Mulder turned over, away from Skinner's embrace. "If anyone deserved to live it was Scully. After everything she went through because of me. . .They shot her right in front of me. Scully was gone before the real hell even started and I felt cheated." Mulder's voice trailed off. "I should have died with her."

Skinner pulled himself up, groped for the candle and relit it. The lines on Mulder's face were etched in shadows. "Bull shit. You think you're the only one who's lost loved ones? Dying's easy and as long as I've known you, you've never been one to take the easy way out." He grasped Mulder's face firmly in his hands. "There's been too much death. I'm kind of glad you didn't."

Mulder met his gaze, holding it even as Skinner held his breath. Finally, he ducked his head and wiped his eyes. "Yeah, well. I am, too, now. Glad I didn't die." When he looked up again the ghost of a smile made it to his lips. He leaned forward and gave Skinner a gentle kiss. Today, I think maybe I want to live again."

Skinner closed him in his arms and held him close, running his hand over the smooth belly, strayed up, fingering each prominent rib. "Today, we both have a chance to live again." Savoring the warmth of the embrace, he let his gaze wander over the cramped cave. "I've been wondering what the hell I was still hanging around here for. I've got a few supplies stockpiled. I think I'm through waiting."

"Where are you going to go?"

Skinner's fingers traced the curve of Mulder's cheeks, wiped the dampness he found there. "We. You mean, where are we going to go? And I'm not exactly sure. But together, we just might have a chance." He felt Mulder's relax in his arms.

"Ain't nobody gonna mess with two hard-bitten, bad ass sons-of-bitches like us. Is that it?"

Skinner cuffed him lightly on the side of his head. "Shut up, Mulder."

* * * The end* * * *


End file.
